The reaction didn't really come as a surprise to Draco, even if the sudden outburst of anger from his father's side was somewhat unexpected. Sure, Lucius had always had problems controlling his anger, but he had seemed so composed when he had called Draco into his office, that Draco had actually thought that he would keep his composure this time. Apparently, he had been wrong, so deadly wrong. Once again, his gaze finds the carpet, as it has done on several occasions before, trying to figure out what he can say in his own defense, but he is coming up short, seeing as he knows that there really isn't anything he can say to save himself. With that thought in mind, he realises that he can just as well keep stepping in it."I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect son you ever wanted" he says, trying to keep his voice calm and conversational, but the ice is pretty clear in his tone, and you would have to be deaf to not realise just how much hatred is filling the young man on the carpet "I am sorry that killing people doesn't matter to you, but that loving people is a wrong and disgusting act"

Once again, Draco’s words made Lucius tense. “Love?” he repeated, shocked by Draco’s choice of words, his voice strained as he balled his fists, very much aware of the wand in his hand. “Don’t you dare call it love; not this, not /him/,” he sneered. With every word he spoke, he raised his voice and stepped closer toward his son.“You are sick,” he spat, this time lowering his voice to a hiss, vocalizing every word, pointing his wand at Draco in a threat. As a part of a wizarding, aristocratic elite there wasn’t much room for diversity, and homos xuality had always been a excluded and demeaned in the same matter as muggleborn witches and wizards were. Lucius had been gratefully certain that he never would have a mudblood son of his own, yet here they stood, and his son had become something as equally disgusting. “I will /not/ have a faggot for a son,” he spoke, his voice tensed and filled with anger and disgust, and his words echoed an unspoken threat as he waved his wand toward the door.In a slow movement, the heavy door unlocked to reveal McNair and Nott’s backs, who, was expected, still guarded the office door. “Restrain him,” Lucius ordered the two, his voice not nearly as controlled as he wished it to be, and though he had referred to him as his /son/ there were no sign of affection in his eyes, as they found the boy on the floor.

Arms gripped him tightly again, but he did not fight their grip. He was going to die, but he was accepting it. At least he had died doing something good, and that made him feel oddly at peace. Sure, he really would have preferred not to do die, but he had known that that would be a risk that he would have to take, if he wanted Harry to be safe. He was breathing heavily, but otherwise he seemed pretty at ease with the entire thing. Death was staring him in the eye, and he was staring back."Too bad that you raised one, then" he said, finally having the courage to actually look at his father. He wondered if anyone would be upset by his passing. Probably only his mother. The rest would know what he had done, and they would say that he got what was coming for him, which would be the truth "But you know how to get rid of me"

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

Draco's words made Lucius' wandhand twitch with anger, and for a moment, he considered it. No one would disagree with his actions if he did kill Draco; at this point in the night, the killing would be well justified. Narcissa might make a fuss of it, but Lucius' anger burned in his throat, threating to spill out as the killing curse. But in the end, though flexing the fingers that gripped around his wand, the "avada kedavra" that would end this, didn't come.In stead, Lucius moved towards the strained boy infront of him. McNair must have understood, and with a rough hand at the back of Draco's head, he did his best to force the other into a more humble position. "No," Lucius eventually spoke, his voice suddently calmer. Standing in front of Draco, he harshly gripped a handfull of Draco's hair, forcing his head slightly sideways to bare his left temple. "Dying would be so easy for you, wouldn't it?"Lucius now pressed his wand against the bared temple, and he saw how the tip made Draco's pale skin flash red under the pressure. "We're not done with you, you are the property of the Dark Lord. Instead, your memories will be deleted - and they will be untill the point you have served your purpose, you disgrace."

That had not been part of his plan, and when Draco finally realised what his father was about to do, red hot panic flared through him. Only then did he start to protest against the arms holding him, flailing, trying to get away. He had been okay with dying, but forgetting would be the worst pain of them all."No!" He exclaimed, feeling the adrenaline return to his body. He couldn't let his father do this. He had come so far, and he didn't want to lose it all again. "Father, please!" He exclaimed, but it was too late. The words 'obliviate' left his father's mouth, and Draco tried to cling to it all, using his skills as an occlumens, but there was nothing to be done, other than just watch all of his memories disappear from him, and turn into a blank space.

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

Harry had lost what little overview he had as soon as he entered the Room of Requirement. Hermione had dissapeared off to Harry's left, with more determination had Harry had seen in her the whole night, and Ron had spotted Crabbe and Goyle somewhere in between a 8 feet tower of stackered armchairs and what seemed to be a broken gargoyle, and suddently, Harry was left alone. The room muffled the sounds of the raiging war, and even the spells cast by the students in the room seemed distant and barely audible.A few seconds into his solitude, realitcy caught up to Harry. The lumos-charm he had cast when entering the Room was quickly replaiced with nox, and for a second, Harry stood in complete silence, waiting for his eyesight to adjust to the twilight of the room. Suddently, the spells became more obvious as tiny glimmersof light shone through centuries worth of junk, and as soon as he gained some sort of direction, Harry finally managed to get moving. Though he had gained a sparse amount of weight since he escaped Malfoy Manor, his muscles werent half of what they had been before his capture, and through waves of adrenaline, his muscles ached. Pushing through mazes of trash as carefully as possible, Harry moved toward the flashes of light he believed was Ron.

Draco was roaming the room of requirements, having just followed Potter, Weasley and Granger here. He had his mother's wand in hand, not quite remembering what happened to his all, but Bellatrix had told him that Potter had taken it from him, when he escaped the castle, and he desperately wanted it back. He turned a corner, and spotted Potter standing there, fighting against the rubble. He snorted. "I would like my want back, Potter" he snapped, not really finding anything about this situation amusing. He really needed his wand back, because while his mother had a fairly decent wand, then it would never be the same as his own. He just didn't feel as connected to this wand as he had to his own, and it was even worse when he knew that it was Potter who was in possession of it.

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

The sound of Draco's voice made a chill run down Harry's spine, and he turned so fast to locate the source that he almost tripped over the clutter. Just the thought of Draco being alive made Harry out of breath (Harry hadn't seen him tonight and he had been mentally preparing for the worst), but it was the Potter that threw him off, and Harry stood his ground, keeping a distance to the other. "Draco," he started, not knowing there to end the sentence. Draco's wand was still in Harry's hand, but the relief, Harry felt seeing that Draco was still alive, seemed to be one-sided, so instead of handing the wand over, Harry raised it a bit.

The sound of his first name coming from Potter's lips threw him off slightly. He didn't think that he had ever heard Potter call him 'Draco', and it was highly unnerving. He didn't like it at all, and he wanted it stop. Most of all it was because it wasn't followed up by anything. No snarky remark, no biting comment, just his name. He shook himself."What? Think that I will have mercy on you?" He snapped, not in the mood for games. He needed his wand back, and he needed to stop Potter, before he managed to get the diadem. They had fallen out of the Dark Lord's grace, and that a while ago, and they really needed to get back in. He couldn't live like that, so he would have to stop Potter, before he destroyed the diadem. "Think again, Potter! This is war, and we are winning!"

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

The harshness of Draco's words made Harry flinch, and instinctively he took a step backwards. He didn't know where to begin - or if to begin at all - and the longer Draco spoke, the more uneasy Harry became. It was obvious that something had happened to Draco since Harry last saw him, and though the possibilities made him nauseous, it was Draco's final remark that knocked the wind out of Harry."What have they done to you?" Harry eventually spoke, his voice half a whimper, making his hurting obvious. While his words echoed of affection, his movements showed nothing but distrust, as he forced himself to raise his - Draco's - wand further upwards into a more defensive position.

A part of his, and honestly he didn't even know where that part came from, wanted to reach out to Ha- Potter, and hold him close. He seemed to remember holding him in tight, and being intimate with him. He shook his head, wanting to shake himself out of that. He raised his wand further, meeting Potter's gaze head on, ignoring the sound of hurt in his voice."It can't come as a surprise to you, Potter. We were never friends before, and you know my family," he snapped, not really in the mood to discuss this. Did Potter really not know that he was a Death Eater? How could it come as a surprise to him after all of these years?"They did nothing to me that I didn't want them to do," he stated, but the words tasted sour in his mouth, almost as if he was lying. That made no sense though, because he was telling the truth.

_________________

it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

For a brief moment, Harry caught himself wondering if it was even worth it, and as the words got stuck in his throat, he clenched his teeth with frustrated hesitation. It had taken the better part of his capture (months, he later discovered) to properly reach to Draco, and the thought of having to go through that again, this time compressed into a single answer spoken in the middle of the war, was so overwhelming that it made Harry question wether or not Draco really was worth the effort. He said it himself - they had never been friends, and whatever need Harry felt to /save/ Malfoy had only occurred after a few months of Stockholm Syndrome and Harry's judgement being clouded by some shags. Harry knew that, and the remaining doubt regarding their whatever-that-was which Harry had been left with, suddenly didn't seemto matter, as he realized that whatever unresolved feelings Harry had where pointless, seeing as the Draco Malfoy who stood in front of him wasn't any longer the one Harry had grown affectionate of."I don't believe you," was the final answer, and though there was still some audible frustration in his voice, Harry seemed above all tired. Even though he kept on arguing, it became more and more obvious that he had lost what little motivation he had had, and both he and the conversation ran on their last fumes. "You risked your life helping me escape, and for that I'm eternally grateful; but you didn't do it because I asked you to, Draco, please, you /have/ to remember that."

It seemed pretty unbelievable that Draco would risk his own life for Potter, no matter the situation, so the words that Potter was spewing didn't make any sense to him. He couldn't even believe it himself, and he knew that if he had ever done such thing, then he would probably have been able to remember it himself. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter," he spat, never lowering his wand, not even for a second. If Potter wanted to play his little games with him, then he was more than welcome to try, but Draco was not about to fall for it. He was on the side of the Dark Lord, the mark on his arm told him that much, and nothing could ever make him change that; especially not a stupid school crush."I am pretty sure that I would be able to remember, if I had risked my own life for you," he added, feeling his anger growing. "Furthermore, why would I even help you in the first place? I want the Dark Lord to win."

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

Because you cared for me. Because we kissed, we shagged, we slept together. Because you came down here to escape reality and you told me about your ****ing up life and I told you about mine, and neither of us tried to argue against how much Voldemort had ruined in both of our lives. For a moment it felt like an eternally long list of reasons why, but no matter how much these words filled his insides, phrasing them and thereby admitting them showed to be much harder than Harry had ever imagined it to be. Instead, Harry looked down the end of Draco's current wand, gradually lowering his own wand, almost in a gesture of exhaustion, as every Potter Draco sneered made his muscles tense as if he had been beaten. "I truly don't know," he exhaled, almost pitifully. He had spend days at Grimmauld wondering the same thing, without ever coming to a definitive answer, and he bit his bottom lip as he for the first time tried to form his abstract thought into a trying sentence. "But I know I did care - I do care - about you, wether you live or die, and ... I don't think you're very used to being cared about."

It was all too much to him.He couldn't believe the story that Potter was telling him. Why would Potter bother caring about him? They were never, at any point in their lives, friends. Sure, Draco had harboured a crush on him for years, but there was no way Potter would know, nor care, about that. He shook his head, furiously, and refocused. He was on a mission after all, and he had no intention of failing again. He had to do good, or else his family was going to pay again, and he could not bear to see that happening. He saw his chance, when Potter started lowering his wand. He couldn't stand listening to him talk, and tell all these lies about him, and what they were supposed to be. Sure, he wasn't really used to people caring about him; in fact, he knew that he was probably gonna be a dead man, if he did not return with Potter, or maybe something even worse was in store for him. He didn't know what brought him to do it, only that he could not stand listening to another word. All that he knew was that suddenly he was flicking his wrist, and the words "Stupefy" left his lips.

_________________

it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

As Harry was dropped on the ground, a flash of pain shot through his right shoulder. The pain travelled down the length of his arm, and with a small gasp of pain, he tried to flex his numb fingers. The effects of the stunning spell were slowly wearing off, but had left Harry dizzy and with an alarming lack of control over his limbs and in the darkness, he felt like he was drowning on land. As his eyes began to focus on the dark muddy ground of the Forbidden Forrest, reality crept up to him and with clumsy and panicked movements he fumbled through the damp leaves in search of his wand, Draco’s wand, any wand, but found none.He tried to shift his position, only to be rewarded with another flash of pain. With numb fingers Harry tried to reach the painful area of his shoulder, only to find a rock sharpened by time imbedded into his shoulder. Another whine of pain escaped him as he reached for it, but he didn’t get to it before his whole body was in pain. He arched his back with a scream, his thought completely blurred by the pain, and he tasted blood as the Cruciatus curse reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

Why Potter getting the Cruciatus curse was so upsetting to Draco, he did not know. He had seen it happen loads of times, sometimes even to people that he actually liked, and he hadn't batted an eyelid. Now, however, his entire stomach was turning, and he was feeling sick. He was trying not to show it to the other Death Eaters; which was easy, seeing as they were busy laughing, and taunting Potter, even if Draco doubted that he could hear them. They were basically children in a candy store about all of this, and Draco hated that he was associated with them. It was almost unbelievable to him that he had to live like this.Every time Potter bade a small jump, Draco had to stop himself from jumping as well, and he didn't even know why. He wanted to look stoic, like his mother, or even slightly pleased, like his father, but honestly, he had never felt more like a child than he did right in that moment. He couldn't believe that his life had ended up like that, but he would have to deal with it. War is war, and if you want to survive it, you have to be ruthless. No matter the cost.

_________________

it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

When the curse was finally lifted, Harry almost passed out again in pure relief. Though his muscles relaxed as soon as the curse lifted its grip on them, they felt noticeable weakened by the pain, and while he drowsed on the border of consciousness, his left hand still twitched with a phantom spasm.Harry heard voiced around him, but had lost sense of direction, and as he forced himself to assume a more upright position, the volume of the voices augmented in such a way, that he almost expected another curse to hit him just to keep him on the ground. Slowly, his senses returned to him, and as soon as his eyes had adjusted the slightest to the darkness, he stood up in another painful, swift moment that almost made him loose his balance all over.Standing up, he realized that the howling he heard around him was actually laughter, and a chill ran down his spine as he scanned the crowd for familiar faces. No one bothered kicking him back down; they all knew he had no chance of escaping.

It was an extremely stressful situation for Draco to be in, because he knew where his loyalties were, or at least where they were supposed to be. He knew that it would happen any second now, but he still felt extremely nauseous by the thought of Potter actually dying. He looked around at the other Death Eaters, and most of them looked excited and happy, including his father and aunt. All he could feel was nausea and sadness, which bothered him.He had almost forgotten what was going to happen, when the Dark Lord yelled the killing curse, and a flash of green hit Potter squarely in the chest. Draco fell to the ground, clutching his head, and doing everything in his power not to cry. A rush of memories flow over him, and he has a hard time separating them. It doesn't help that they all involve himself and Potter... No, Harry. Himself and Harry.

_________________

it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

The war felt like it had lasted an entire lifetime, though Harry figured it couldn’t have lasted more than a handful of hours. But to be fair, he had died halfway through. His hands still shaky from the battle, Harry had made a decision to avoid the Great Hall. He knew that the survivors had gathered there, some in better shape than others; he himself had spend half an hour buried in the arms of friends, all crying with relief, happiness and grief. Yet, in the end, Harry had felt restless among the rubbles of the castle, and had instead set out to wander the halls in search for wounded. Every now and then Harry passed other members of the Order, nodding a quiet gesture acknowledging their presence, but never speaking, and for the better part of his walk, Harry was alone. He felt mentally exhausted and his muscles ached with the sudden lack of adrenaline, yet enjoying the strange calm that settled around the castle. For once, he allowed his body a rest, taking a seat on a stone windowsill, enjoying chilled breeze that entered through the cracked glass behind him.

It was pretty surreal to walk around the war-wrecked Hogwarts, after everything had calmed back down. Draco felt like he had aged 30 years in the span of a couple of hours, and he just couldn't stay still. He knew that his parents were still in the Great Hall, trying to just stay to themselves, and taking care of their injuries. He ran a hand through his hair, making his platinum blonde hair even more dusty in the process, but it wasn't really like anyone cared about that. He was pretty surprised when he saw Harry sitting in a windowsill by himself. He would have expected him to be in the Great Hall with the order, taking care of the wounded, and mourning the dead. Then again, it may be too much, even for the Chosen one. He considered, for a brief moment, to just let Harry be, but in the end, he couldn't just walk past him without making a comment. "Hi."

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks

Draco’s voice filled Harry with an uneasy feeling of déjà-vu; it was the only voice besides his own Harry had heard in the months of his captivity, and as he opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side towards the sound, he realized that he didn’t think he’d ever hear it again.A frown remained between his brows, still trying to catch up with reality. “Hi,” he eventually answered, leaning a bit forward and resting his palms on the stone beside him. Part of Harry recons he should be angry or in the middle of demanding an explanation that justified Draco’s actions since they last parted, but in the end, he didn’t really care. Harry was exhausted, and he briefly closed his eyes as he tried to phrase a question. “You okay? Are you ... you? – again.”

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